


Rising, Rising (Catalyst)

by The_Birds_And_Bees



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Aborted Genocide, Chara ain't the best person, Depression, Gen, POV Second Person, Panic Attacks, Sans ain't the best person either but lol where's the surprise, Self-Harm, Suicide Attempt, but let's just pop the emphasis on person
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2016-10-06
Packaged: 2018-08-19 21:14:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8224957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Birds_And_Bees/pseuds/The_Birds_And_Bees
Summary: Taking it easy's exactly how things like this happen.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dawnwards](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dawnwards/gifts).



> To Dawn, because you shouldn't have quoted me. You just shouldn't have done it.
> 
> And to feralphoenix, for inspiring me enough to give myself a challenge. Hope the finished product's worth it.

* * *

 

**Walls don’t fall without effort.**

 

* * *

 

Chara is to you, for all intents and purposes, a blank wall. You’ve got no reason to like ‘em.

They can tell, too. It shows in how quickly they go quiet in your presence, not so much monitoring your position as continuing to keep you within their periphery at all times- giving polite answers to the conversations they’re involved in, but without much else. You’ve seen corpses with more personality to them than this kid, all clipped words and careful articulation that makes them sound like they’re an adult, contrary to the oft times ruffled appearance they’ve got to ‘em.

Pretty difficult, then, to place how they really are through the way they interact with others. You get that Tori loves them, as much, if not more, than she loves every other SOUL that’s become nothing more than a presence hiding in the shadows of her eyes, and Asgore- well, some days it’s like he’s almost decades younger. Respectful not to encroach on that seemingly invisible barrier his ex has established between him and them, but still watching from some wistful perspective which picks up all the things you can’t, or just don’t want to.

Considering the history at play, here, they’re the obvious players in this game; Undyne’s the next one to find them endearing, dividing up her time between barking orders around the encampment and following unsaid requests to keep them safe, so she’s got the most exposure to them past their parents, you suppose. Little surprising for her to ease up to them just like that, but she says-- to anyone else who thinks to ask, not to you-- they’re a little like her when she was younger. A rambunctious troublemaker with a self-imposed moral standing a mile wide.

You don’t see it.

Chara is to you, for all intents and purposes, a blank wall. From the very first meeting with them that hadn’t- perhaps intentionally so- to give you much to go off. From the very first time Frisk introduces them to you, with whatever thoughts they have about the occasion locked tight behind a thin smile and fingers that curl into hiding within their sleeves.

 

(From the very first time Frisk introduces you- not Tori. Not Asgore, or any other monster old enough to recall them as anything past a bedtime story. Just Frisk, and yet the kid grips one of Chara’s hands so tightly both of them are white knuckled, the implications in their overly careful tone straightforward enough. _This is precious-- please don’t touch._

Precious; supposed to be dead. Supposed to be, but no one’s leaning too heavily on the idea of figuring out the reason why they’re not.)

 

It’s as they always say; familiarity breeds contempt.

And the idea that contemptuous _familiarity_ resides there at all _breeds_ like a disease on the inside of your skull, so thick it doesn’t even rattle. You’re not comfortable with the fact that your first instinct at the sight of a tiny slip of a child is to bristle, but hey. Call it a gut reaction.

Doesn’t matter if they’re a good half a head shorter than you, or that the definition of ‘tiny slip’, in their case, equates to looking like a brisk gust of wind will bowl them right over. Frisk ain’t exactly the biggest thing you’ve seen in your life, and between the two of them you’d be hard pressed to figure out if there’s any difference in height.

Fact is, they’re a tiny slip of a kid usually, if not always, attached to another tiny slip of a kid who probably ended the world a few times over. Maybe just the once. No biggie.

Maybe you’re the only one thinking it over. The surface is vast; the sky alone and the feeling of actual wind, the sounds from unknown sources and the invasive presence of humans in varying splashes of green and khaki with great, flying monstrosities is enough to have a good third of the monster population stricken in their tents, a problem very few recognise and even less have the time to deal with. Buildings with the space to relocate an entire civilisation don’t just spring up overnight, the humans aren’t financially prepared to deal with a new source of foreign currency; who knows what the heck land rights is all about, 'cept you’ve rented a house for years and know more than enough to walk right out of that shitstorm-- it goes on.

It goes on, without an end in sight, and you’re pretty sure that no one in or out of this camp has a full grasp on the scope of things, just what it’s gonna take to assimilate a few hundred thousand monsters to the surface.

So if you take that all into account, then yeah. Maybe you’re the only one thinking it over. Could be that you’re the only one with questions and no answers; ‘cept you’ve seen the way Alphys looks at them and that’s how you know you ain’t.

Likewise, you never see those two around each other unless it really can’t be helped, either; in Asgore’s tent, whenever an important and private meeting needs to take place. The ones Frisk’s involved in, as is their ambassadorial right. The ones Alphys nervously plays her part in, too. Her title of Royal Scientist might be under serious jeopardy right now, but even the queen knows when even more change is going to be too much.

And Chara’s there, because-

 

Hell if you know.

 

There’s a lot you don’t know right now; could be that the more bitter parts of you are enjoying the proverbial leap of faith over the abyss, right up until it decides to wink and pull you all right back in again, but then- all in all, you just don’t want to know. A kid comes crawling back from the dead with a look that’d have your skin crawling if you had any; a good one hundred years after said death, and you don’t make a peep.

Instead, the questions are left to burn away unanswered as you turn away from any situation with the potential to lead to even more questions with a blunt sense of apathy you’d almost be proud of, if you had it in yourself to be proud of anything past Paps. You don’t.

So even if it’s a bit callous of you, what little effort there is to spare on giving someone attention goes to Frisk, When the occasion calls for it. You’re the guy who gets them out when it’s obvious they need an out, the one who lazes at the treeline as they take off their shoes and socks to wade in the river alone, always finding a smooth pebble or stone to bring back as an offering of some kind that you’ve yet to put the energy into trying to define. You like ‘em about as well as you like the former usuals at Grillby’s- which is to say there’s a consistency to them, not enough to peg every little doubt on, but enough to content you in what aspects of the anomaly you can handle.

The kid version of it suits you just fine; you get a smile or titter of laughter out of them once or twice a day, and that’s how you know you can relax into the precarious linearity of the passing days, helping out where it’s expected of you and not much more.

Stars are just a bonus. This close to the mountain, where humans have hardly dared to tread for years, outside of a series of kids ready and willing to come to their own, unfortunate junctures, things like light pollution don’t hold much weight on the screen of black that appears each night, and you spend more than one evening with your brother just quietly watching for the sake of watching.

It’d disappoint you that he’s so much more enthralled than you are, but you’ll take what you can get, and the sense of peace in those still moments is still more than you would’ve expected if you weren’t right there in it.

In no way were you not expecting shit to hit the fan eventually.

 

* * *

 

No one in their right mind would call you a morning person, and you’re not, really. You’re a take sleep as it comes sort of guy; and never let it be said that a job’s worth doing if the job can be done without doing well. You’ve spent days staring at your mattress, sometimes, and the varying heights of the counters you’ve napped on in your lifetime have inevitably added a curvature to your spine, a hunched effect to your shoulders that some call relaxed and others seedy. Sleep may as well be your full time job.

But on the surface, things are a bit brighter than you’d given them credit for. Dawn rises over the horizon, and you’re awake whether you want to be or not, staring at the too thin canvas overhead as you briefly take note of the lack of sound immediately around you; Papyrus is already gone. Chances are he never came back last night, too busy swapping rounds in the watch with monsters a little more prone to things like sleep. So you take your time in sitting up, grunting as your cervical vertebrae protest the motion, and idly scratch at the back of your skull.

It’s less the feeling than the sound of ivory grating against itself that you like, though you’ve noted that Tori ain’t exactly the biggest fan. You try to keep that in mind whenever instinctual habits decide to strike.

The benefit to a mattress on the floor, in comparison to the sleeping bag you’ve been making do with the past few weeks, is the slight amount of leverage it gives when it comes time to actually get up. Rolling over and pushing off with your knees is a sight easier than dragging your way upright when the alternative-- just fall back, pull the thick covering over yourself. Forget you ever tried-- is so much more attractive, but you manage. With that done, it’s just a matter of pulling back the tent flap and stepping out into the vivid oranges and golds that grace the city of tents; a sight holding a hint of something powerful that still manages to touch you even now.

(Because you can’t mistake the passage of time with this; can’t get so caught up that it doesn’t noticeably pass from one moment to the next. Day twenty-three of sunrises and sunsets, refusing to be ignored.)

The amount of monsters up and about the place is fewer than you’d expect, a couple dotted about in the same position of repose as yourself, whilst more still walk about with a sense of purpose to their steps, hurrying past you with a nod of acknowledgment, at best.

You lose sight of them between the tents, the scent of cooking wafting across the space from the direction of the mess area; a bit easier to control than a couple thousand campfires as everyone struggles to meet their own dietary needs. Your own magic twangs with the inclination to head over that way, an urge that lingers as long as you do.

Inhaling for the sake of it, your eye sockets close with something vaguely akin to contentment; the day still young enough to encapsulate that sense of being one of the only creatures in existence. There’s a sense of stillness about that which makes speech seem like a moot point. It had been easier to come across in the Underground, where you knew the places less frequented- up here, it’s all trapped in pockets of time, singular hours and minutes that make the whole process a little more gratifying to bear with.

And so you start the day by ducking between two tents and coming out next to a wooden bench. Even more volunteers running back and forth in the mess area; in and out of the two trailers, the humans called ‘em, scents strongest when you glance over at the doors. True to fashion, you slouch down and wait for someone to notice you; more often than not, someone always does.

Doesn’t take long for the usual to be slapped down on the table in front of you; just a black coffee and some toast, one going neglected as the other finds its place between thick bones, raised up and swigged down with a slight note of dissatisfaction. It’s burnt, and it ain’t Grillby’s- but he can’t be expected to feed the entire Underground on his own. More monsters filter through to their own solitary benches as you push bits of crusty bread around the plate, vaguely considering leaving as a low murmur begins- hushed voices as acquaintances and friends and co-workers plan out how to meet the day in their own way.

What some think of the manner in which they’ve surfaced is hard to place, most times. The humans involved with setting this whole thing up gain a wide berth, whenever they get brave enough to come wandering through. _So hyped for the destruction of humanity_ isn’t something that just goes away overnight, and the fact that Undyne is one of the monsters leading the front when it comes to meeting the humans peacefully… you gotta hand it to her- it’s probably one of the bigger points that stopped this all from turning into one giant fuckfest right from the start. Frisk is another big influence, of course- but the clincher is Chara.

Doesn’t matter how, but the fact that the future of humans and monsters is once again walking the earth seems to have even the least suspicious of monsters making ancient signs of faith that had almost become taboo in recent years. Something inexplicable and unexplainable as regaining one of two, lost on the same night. Looks like hope, to some.

You’ve yet to see the appeal.

And you’ve lost your appetite. Dumping your food in the trash with little remorse (humans really don’t seem to be hurting on the supply front) you shuffle forwards, not too sure on what you’re doing, just yet, but it probably involves the word ‘tent’ and ‘bed’. You’re not even remotely ashamed of that. It is how it is, and for the most part, people seem to find you when they need you.

“Sans.”

Like now, for an example. Doesn’t exactly take much to put a smile on your face, but you turn your head with the sensation of the grooves in your cheekbones deepening, nodding in acknowledgement as the captain of the guard herself marches up to you. You, getting called up by the captain of the Royal Guard. Fancy that.

You must’a been a good boy, this year.

“Mornin’.” You’d say good, but even before she comes to a halt in front of you, you’ve already figured that part’s out. You haven’t seen her look like this since the day the last human fell; a little less kind than Frisk, a little less likely to roll back the clock and make all their sins disappear. That eyepatch covering one side of her face is a stark reminder of that. “That oil for your scales not doin’ it for ya, huh? Told Al she’d wanna get it tested out, first.”

And she doesn’t even blush.

Really, she doesn’t even sneer. That has you straightening up a little, smile becoming closer to the usual wearing grimace as no retaliation comes. She’s barely holding herself in check, a muscle in her neck working overtime as her teeth grind together-

It’s not you she’s holding herself in over.

“The queen’s asking for you; official business.” Is the explanation given. You give her a nod, setting off on foot because she is, because there’s a few questions you have to work yourself into asking in the midst of the brisk pace she sets, authoritative manner providing you both with a wide berth as you go.

“How’s uh… how’s Papyrus doing?” You ask carefully; because in times like these, you gotta be sure. You really gotta be sure.

“Fine; relieved some of the humans on the main gate three hours ago.” Undyne snorts, though her countenance barely softens. “Big goof keeps going on and on about radios. Hope you like Kesha.”

“Eh, fuggedaboutit. Key knows I’m gonna keep my tempo, whether I like it or not.” At least she has the decency to grimace, this time, throwing you a tight look that tells you if it were any other time, she’d be about ready to have your spine. But it closes the pool, somewhat; no hesitation on her part means your bro is really, truly alright, and that’s about the only thing that matters in the long run. The rest you can take as it comes.

Tori’s tent is pretty obvious. Parked right next to Asgore’s, the humans had found themselves at a bit of a loss when it came to accommodating monsters of their, uh, stature. The two had wound up with two of those family sized things; big enough that they had separate rooms, and though they were hard pressed to take that space when others needed it, Tori had the kids.

And Asgore had the meetings. As you step into the domed shelter, you’re already hard pressed to find a space for yourself. The king’s making do by crouching in one of the doorways, shoulder to shoulder with Tori, who’s no doubt pleased about it, but otherwise occupied. One kid in her lap, Alphys making herself as small as possible against the fabric of the wall opposite. Undyne heads towards her, which leaves you with a big ol’ door of your own to slouch in, looking from grave face to grave face with the set grimace to your features.

Yep. Can’t say you weren’t expecting this. The silence lingers, and its too long. You note, with a sense of detached finality, that Frisk’s eyes are red rimmed. They’ve been crying.

There goes this timeline.

“Sans, my friend.” Toriel’s the first to speak, and that’s about the point you realize Frisk ain’t the only one who’s been shedding some tears. “I am afraid that we must ask something difficult of you.”

And maybe that’s why, out of everyone in the tent, she’s the one who speaks.

‘Cause they’ve got you pegged enough to know you won’t say no. Not to a woman of integrity.

 

* * *

 

You’re not all that big on psychology. S’far as science goes, it’s pretty new to humans, and even newer to those in the Underground. You’ve seen one of the three books on the subject that had been used to slap together something close to the nature of what humans have been studying, and it’s- well. Maybe up here it ain’t as much of a pseudo-science, but down below, the scramble to understand was waylaid a bit-- mostly ‘cause a good portion of monsters didn’t even have a brain.

So it’s probably not a good thing, to be considering psychology, right now. You’re just looking for a reason to explain why this tent seems quieter. Darker. Maybe you just had the misfortune to step inside just as the sun ducked behind a cloud. Maybe every monster just, y’know, decided, in unison, to pipe down for this particular minute. Minutes. You stare at the divider between the makeshift main room and where the kids sleep for a little too long, before finally taking the initiative to step through.

Darker yet darker. The silence is really getting to you, but you can’t exactly say it’s all in your head. The whole room reeks of somethin’ you don’t want to think on, too hard.

From underneath a pile of blankets, they stare at you.

It’s not the blank wall you’re expecting, but it’s close enough. Red eyes are glazed over enough that it’s difficult to tell if they can even see you, and as you slide down the wall opposite (might as well be comfortable for this, right? Might as well- they can’t do anything to you right now, and you don’t know why you’re expecting them to try) they close again. From their own volition or because it’s too much effort, who knows. Past that, the only indication there's even a kid under their is a set of pale fingers sticking out the top, resting across the pillow against a flurry of unkempt hair.

You’re pretty sure they’re out of it before you even settle down proper.

And that’s the rest of your day.

But oh boy, if it doesn’t raise a few questions for you. Like…how a kid like this comes back from the dead, round about a century after they’d gone.

Why a kid like this tries to kill themself, the moment everyone’s got their back turned.

 

Yeah. You’d say that’s a pretty good question.

And regardless of your thoughts on the matter, you've got a feeling you'll be the one figuring it out.


End file.
